


The Gift

by Evilpixie



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:18:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilpixie/pseuds/Evilpixie
Summary: Bruce gives Clark a gift.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [礼物](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11436993) by [mlest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlest/pseuds/mlest)



Clark held the microscope slide up to the light and studied the tiny fossilised creature inside. It was a single celled organism with blocks of chunky, primitive, DNA twisting through its body. No arms, no legs, no eyes.

 

“Bruce?”

 

The man sat across the table from him, hands wrapped around a coffee mug and eyes adverted. “Happy Birthday, Clark.”

 

“Thank you. I… um…” He looked at the microscope slide again. Frowned. “What is it?”

 

Bruce didn’t answer at first. Then… “Hal brought back an asteroid from the outer sectors six months ago.”

 

“I remember.” How could he forget? Hal brought it as a souvenir and Bruce seized it and held it in quarantine for two months. When Hal finally got it back it had been scratched, seared, and even sawn in two. As if Hal needed another reason to fight with Bruce. “What’s that got to do with this?”

 

“It was inside the asteroid.”

 

“It… oh.” Clark looked at the long dead creature again. It was a fairly typical organism. Carbon based. Most likely survived off sunlight. Not all that different from the tiny animals he could find in ponds on Earth. But, then again, that didn’t mean all that much. He himself was an alien and, on the surface, he didn’t seem all that different from the man sitting across the table from him.

 

Is that why Bruce gave him this? Because he was an alien?

 

Did he think just because he was an alien that he would be interested in another alien?

 

“Thank you,” he said again, stiffer this time. “I… yeah. Thank you.”

 

“The asteroid came from outer space sector 274,” Bruce told him still looking at his coffee. “It was heading away from Oa. Out into deep space.”

 

“Oh. Okay.”

 

“You know what that means?”

 

“Yes. I… Thank you,” Clark said and somehow that was the end of the conversation. They sat in silence for another ten minutes before Clark announced he had to go back to work and left Bruce to cover the bill. He didn’t get any work done for the rest of the day. He sat at his computer, liked birthday wishes as they arrived on his Facebook wall, and after an ‘IOU one free edit’ card from Lois, a plate of donuts from Jimmy, and a firm pat on the back from Perry he went home.

 

It wasn’t that he minded the gift. Not really. Bruce was probably giving him something he thought he would be interested in. Perhaps he was even trying to share an interest with him. After all, clearly this long dead creature was something that had caught Bruce’s attention. Why else would he harvest and store it for six months? Yes. That had to be it. Bruce was just sharing an interest.

 

But, despite that, a part of him was disappointed. Disappointed for reasons he didn’t want to explore. So he didn’t. He put the microscope slide and the fossilised alien in his study draw and tried to forget about it.

 

For the most part it worked.

 

He and Bruce kept meeting for lunch every Thursday and would still go on missions together more often than other members of the Justice League. But, despite the façade of normality, Clark knew things had changed. It was like there was an invisible wall between them. A wall that started out thin but slowly got thicker and thicker. A wall of his own making that meant the close intimate kind of conversations they had been having – the kind of conversations where he told Bruce things he had never told anyone – stopped.

 

It wasn’t because Bruce gave him the wrong gift on his birthday. It really wasn’t. It was just… he thought Bruce _knew_ him better than that. He thought Bruce thought of him more than just an alien immigrant. But he was wrong. They were friends but the close bond he had imagined they were developing wasn’t there.

 

And that was fine.

 

He was fine with that.

 

He was.

 

“I’ve adopted a boy,” Bruce said one day over Thursday lunch.

 

Clark was sure he misheard him. “I’m sorry. What?”

 

“A boy,” Bruce said again. “I’ve adopted a boy. Or, more accurately, he’s my ward. I’m his foster parent until the state finds a better place to settle him. His name is Richard Grayson. He grew up in a circus. His parents were murdered. He’s nine.”

 

Clark wasn’t sure what to do with this information. It all seemed so surreal. Bruce didn’t have kids. Bruce didn’t want kids. Did he? Was that just something he hadn’t told him?  “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Batman…”

 

“He knows,” Bruce told him. “It didn’t take him long to figure it out. I trust him.”

 

“You trust him? Wow I… wait. Hold up. It didn’t take him long? How long have you had this boy?”

 

Bruce sent him a flat look. “A month.”

 

“I…” Clark stared.

 

It was just like the gift all over again. The event in of itself not bad but just an indicator that the gap between them was wider than he thought. But, unlike the gift, this time Bruce seemed to know. He knew this news would hurt Clark. Hurt some small pathetic part of him that realised Bruce was his best friend but he might not be Bruce’s best friend.

 

Perhaps Bruce was punishing him for distancing himself from him these last few weeks. Perhaps Bruce really had neglected to tell him about this sudden and very drastic change in his life because Clark wasn’t that important. Perhaps…

 

“He would like to meet you,” Bruce said.

 

“Huh?”

 

“The boy. He’s a huge fan.”

 

“Oh. Okay. I can do that.”

 

He couldn’t. He thought he could but he couldn’t. He made up an excuse – a plane crashing, a building falling, he didn’t remember exactly what it was – and didn’t show up. Bruce didn’t ask him again.

 

And that was it. He couldn’t keep pretending he and Bruce were best friends. Not when he’d stood Bruce’s kid up. Not when a small ugly part of him wished the boy would be placed in another home soon so things could go back to being normal. Not when he realised Bruce had been trying to close the rift between them by inviting him over and he had instead pulled it wide open.

 

He found an excuse to go on a deep space mission for a month and when he came back made no attempt to reconnect with the other man. Thursday lunches stopped and the amount of missions they went on together became less and less. Soon they stopped entirely and it quickly became obvious why.

 

Bruce had a new partner.

 

Batman and Robin.

 

The boy, it seemed, was here to stay. And that was a good thing. It was. Even from his new distance Clark could see Bruce was happier. He would smile more, was more lenient with Hal than usual, and even consented to a trip to the medical wing after getting knocked around during a particularly brutal battle.

 

He was happy. Happier than Clark had ever seen him.

 

Clark contented himself with that knowledge and tried not to be bitter about the fact he wasn’t a part of it. After all, he had nothing to be bitter about. It was his fault that their friendship was fading into a lacklustre connection more closely associated with colleagues. He hadn’t been happy with just being Bruce’s friend. He’d wanted to be Bruce’s best friend. He’d wanted… more.

 

Perhaps more than he’d ever realised he wanted from Bruce.

 

The following day he asked Lois on a date.

 

They went to an indie movie about sheep farmers or something like that and Lois somehow fit a whole bottle of wine into her clutch purse. It was fun. They giggled through the serious bits and drank swigs of wine when no one wasn’t looking. It felt like being in high school again only he’d never done anything like this when he was in high school. Lana had invited him to but he’d never been brave enough.

 

He kissed her on her doorstep and it had been exciting and fun. That excitement and fun stuck to every outing, every smile, every sexual encounter until one day he lay in bed he realised that’s all it was. Exciting. Fun. Nothing more. And once he realised that he felt himself put up another invisible wall and just like with Bruce Lois sensed and they slowly drifted apart. No dramatic break up. No nights alone crying into the bed pillow. Just…

 

“Do you want to go out for some drinks after work, Smallville?”

 

“No I… no. I have to finish this.”

 

“Oh okay. Do you need an edit?”

 

“I’m good thanks.”

 

When things started getting awkward with him and Bruce he’d left the planet. With Lois he did the same thing. He left the Daily Planet main office and started working on cases that would take him somewhere – anywhere – else. The record breaking LGBT Rights Rally in New York, the rebuilding of Central City’s City Hall, the Wonder Woman’s Speech to the UN… The plan backfired in a spectacular way when he ended up, against all odds, covering a Wayne Foundation Charity function in Gotham.

 

It was the first time he’d seen the boy – Richard Grayson – bright, blue eyed, and already a charmer. It was also the first time he’d seen Bruce in, what he realised, had been over a month. Bruce smiled at him anyway. A foppish smile that made him look both ridiculous and ridiculously attractive. Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, at your service.

 

“Mr Kent,” he said. “It’s been a while. You haven’t met my ward, Dick.”

 

Clark blinked. “What did you call m--?”

 

The boy thrust his hand forward with a very serious look on his face. “Nice to meet you. I’m Dick.”

 

“You’re…” Richard. Right. “It’s a pleasure to meet you young man.” He shook his hand.

 

“It’s an honour,” Dick responded. He was trying to sound grown up. Serious. But his eyes were sparkling with barely concealed admiration. “Really. I know you’re really busy. I’m really happy you could come.”

 

He knew. He knew he was Superman.

 

Clark gave Bruce a look. “Just doing my job.”

 

“I’m glad your job is so important to you,” Bruce said. “To come all the way from Metropolis to my house. I know that’s not something you’re able to do too often.”

 

“Hey, it’s not…”

 

“I suppose I should be grateful. I wouldn’t see you at all otherwise.”

 

“Bruce. That’s not…”

 

“That said, I am afraid I am going to have to disappoint you. I don’t have time for an interview just now. I am showing my boy around Gotham society while they’re all conveniently piled into the living room. I will have my receptionist send you a formal statement.”

 

“I would rather…”

 

“I look forward to reading your article.”

 

“Me too,” Dick said much more earnestly. “I subscribe to the Daily Planet online.”

 

“That’s…”

 

“Good evening, Mr Kent.”

 

Bruce took Dick’s hand and towed him away. For a moment Clark stood feeling strangely small and sick like he was caught up in a sudden unseen current. No longer drifting. No longer slowly moving away. No longer fading because somehow, in among these laughing people and white collared waiters, they had had their first fight.

 

They had fought plenty of times as Batman and Superman. They had argued about everything from the best materials to build the proposed Watchtower out of to what they should have for lunch. They had even, quite famously, come to blows shortly after they first met. But that wasn’t this.

 

This was their first _real_ fight.

 

And it made him angry.

 

What right did Bruce have? Sure, they were friends, but that didn’t mean he have to spend all his time with him. Granted, he probably shouldn’t have skipped out on meeting his kid but for all Bruce knew Clark really had been catching a falling plane. How could he blame him for that? Besides, all this started when Bruce decided it would be a great idea to get him a dead alien on his birthday.

 

It wasn’t like this was all about the gift. It wasn’t. It really wasn’t… but seriously. What the hell had he been thinking? Yeah he was an alien but that wasn’t all he was. Even if it was that alien had nothing to do with him. It was a single celled organism for Christ’s sake. A single celled organism from an asteroid in the outer quadrants of known space. Millions of light years from Krypton. What the fuck was that supposed to do except remind him his birthday wasn’t his birthday but rather a day he crash landed down onto Earth?

 

Bruce could come up with a kid he didn’t tell him about for a month and belittle him with all his passive aggressive bullshit about not visiting but he wasn’t exactly winning the friendship award himself.

 

Clark stood stiff and ignored in the throng of socialites. Face down and hand shaking where he clasped his notebook. He stayed there feeling pathetic and powerless through four ill-conceived speeches, a round of drinks purchased by their ‘gracious’ host which – he noticed – didn’t extend to the press, and even a bout of impromptu karaoke. As soon as he could he excused himself and fled the oppressive party and Bruce’s false toothy smile still facing him across the room.

 

He never flew when dressed as Clark Kent.

 

But he flew as Clark Kent now.

 

He flew home to Metropolis, fished the dead alien out of the bottom of his draw, and thrust it into an envelope. He didn’t address it to Wayne Manor. He addressed it to the PO Box he knew Bruce got all his real mail through. He put it in the post and that was it. His friendship with Bruce was over.

 

He didn’t sleep that night.

 

Or the night after that.

 

Or the night after that.

 

The night after that Bruce phoned.

 

Three words.

 

_“Come here. Now.”_

 

He hung up before Clark had a chance to respond.

 

Clark considered not going. But he did. Perhaps he needed some sort of resolution. Perhaps he needed to yell at Bruce and have Bruce yell at him. Perhaps they needed something that dramatic and final before he would be able to sleep at night.

 

He didn’t pretend there was any chance of reconciliation. Not after hearing Bruce’s voice over the phone. He knew Bruce hadn’t summoned him to exchange apologies or ask if they could start again. He knew, no matter what happened, they were done.

 

When he arrived Bruce was alone in his study sitting behind his desk. Clark’s letter was open in front of him. The microscope slide had shattered and splashed across the desk and across Bruce’s lap. He was holding himself very still.

 

“Clark.”

 

“What did you want?”

 

“Find it.”

 

“What?”

 

“The microorganism,” Bruce practically snarled. “You put it in an envelope without any protection. The slide broke. The microorganism is somewhere on my desk or on me. Find it.”

 

Clark stared at him in disbelief. “You brought me here to find your dead alien pet?”

 

Through gritted teeth. “I can’t exactly find it myself.”

 

“You’re unbelievable.” He turned to leave.

 

“One thing,” Bruce rasped. “You do this one thing for me and I won’t bother you again. I won’t ask you to see Dick. I won’t…”

 

“You think this is about Dick?”

 

“I don’t know,” Bruce said. “I don’t know why you’ve decided to pull the plug on… us. I don’t… All I know is… is…” He bowed his head. “It might not matter to you, Clark, but it matters to me. Please. Find it. Then you can go.”

 

Clark stared at him. Then without a word he approached and began searching through the broken fragments of glass. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. The microorganism was among many others of its kind. All the tiny lifeforms that naturally inhabited the world, some virtually indistinguishable to the creature apart from the fact that they were alive or recently dead and it fossilised.

 

When he’d checked Bruce’s desk and the inside of the envelope multiple times he turned to the man himself. Bruce was sitting stiff and still as if afraid any movement might accidentally crush the tiny alien. He wasn’t exactly wrong. The shattered slide had sprinkled tiny fragments of glass down onto his lap and a small amount had fallen in the gap between his legs.

 

That was where Clark found the organism.

 

Small. Simple.

 

Damaged. A part of it had been slashed through when the protective casing broke. Bruce would see that damage when he next put the slide under a microscope. Clark tried not to imagine that scene. Tried not to feel guilty.

 

He collected the two biggest pieces of glass from the desk, leant forward, and carefully picked up the tiny thing. When he was sure he had it secure he pressed it between the two shards and dropped it into Bruce’s hand.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Bruce didn’t move. Neither did Clark. On his knees in front of Bruce.

 

“Is it Dick?” Bruce asked. “Or is it me?”

 

“No it’s…” Clark looked down. No longer angry. No longer upset. Just sad. “It’s me. I thought we were closer than we were. I thought… I thought we were more than we were.”

 

Bruce was studying him.

 

“I didn’t want to deal with the fact that I lo-liked you more than you liked me.”

 

"Why do you think that?"

 

He didn't answer.

 

“Because I didn’t tell you about Dick?”

 

“Yes and… other things.”

 

“Dick was very sudden,” Bruce said. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if he was only going to stay one night or one week or…” he looked aside. “I think he’s going to stay now but I’m still not sure. Maybe the circus will ask for custody. Or maybe a distant family member will show up at my doorstep. Maybe the state will decide I’m not a suitable guardian.” His gaze moved slowly back to Clark. “I didn’t want to tell you about him and have him taken away.”

 

Clark bowed his head. Ashamed. “I understand.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“I… I think so.”

 

“Then do you understand that I never wanted to… to push you out. To alienate you.”

 

That word. Alienate. To make one feel like an outsider. An alien.

 

Clark looked at Bruce’s hand and the shard of glass still resting on his palm. The gift. The alien.

 

Bruce noticed the direction of his gaze and grimaced. “Perhaps I should give it back to Hal.”

 

“He uses the asteroid as a footstool.”

 

Bruce looked miserable. “I know.”

 

“Why?” Clark whispered. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

 

The man’s eyes met his then fluttered down to look at the creature. “It made me feel close to you. I thought… I thought it would make you feel close to me.”

 

“Why?”

 

Another pause. Longer this time.

 

“Bruce. Just because… Just because I’m an alien…”

 

“It’s our common ancestor.”

 

Clark blinked. “Bruce… no it… it’s… I’m from Krypton and it…”

 

“I understand it’s not the exact spore which split in two but it’s this species that…”

 

“Bruce.” Clark took his free hand in his. “Hal found it in the outer sectors. It’s not...”

 

“Outer sector 274. Heading further away from Oa. That meant the asteroid flew through sector 2813 just under a billion years ago and sector 2814 roughly 600 million years ago.”

 

Clark thought about that. And… oh… oh God…

 

“We know now that life didn’t manifest on Earth,” Bruce went on. “Life needs an incredible amount of energy from the emotional spectrum to manifest. Not the kind of energy that exists this far away from Oa. That means we must have sparked into existence closer to the centre of known space… and when our original planet exploded tiny pieces of life trapped in the rock were hurled out into space. It would have been an asteroid just like the one Hal found that crash landed down onto Earth. That brought life to Earth. It would have been a creature just like this one that populated this planet.”

 

“Bruce…”

 

“And the same thing happened on Krypton. Perhaps it was even the same asteroid. Krypton is on the path between Oa and Earth. Perhaps it was one rock and part of it broke off and crash landed down onto Krypton and part of it kept going for another 400 million years and crash landed down onto Earth.”

 

“But that means…”

 

“It would explain why so many different species from this portion of known space look so similar. Somewhere in the DNA of this cell is the blueprint for humanoids. And the reason why Humans and Kryptonians are the most indistinguishable among all the nearby systems… because our rock broke apart later than the others.”

 

Bruce didn’t look up from the shard of glass in his hand.

 

“On an intergalactic scale… that makes us cousins.”

 

Clark didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he could say it even if he did. His throat felt tight. His tongue thick and heavy.

 

They stayed like that for a long time, Clark kneeling at Bruce’s feet and Bruce looking at the glass in his hand. Then, without a word, Clark stood up and left.

 

He went home, showered, and sat on the sofa staring blindly at the TV. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling… but it hurt. Hurt in a strange wretched place deep inside him.

 

He should have known. Since when did Bruce ever do anything without thinking about it? Since when did he act without analysing and evaluating the situation to his own ridiculous degree? Since when had he ever let him down?

 

When Bruce gave him the gift Bruce had asked if he understood… and he said yes. Why did he have to say yes? Bruce wouldn’t have thought less of him if he’d said he didn’t understand. Bruce would have explained just like he explained tonight and then… then none of this would ever have happened. He would have known Bruce cared. It didn’t even matter if the creature was their common ancestor or not. All that mattered was that Bruce cared. All that mattered was…

 

_It made me feel close to you._

 

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You fucking idiot. You…”

 

He’d damaged the gift. Bruce would see that. He might have already seen it. He’d damaged it in his ill-conceived attempt to return it. Return it because he thought it meant Bruce didn’t care when in fact it meant the exact opposite.

 

“You _fucking_ idiot.”

 

He needed to fix this. He needed to fix this before it was too late.

 

Before he knew it he was back at Wayne Manor. Back standing in front of the man who was now busy pulling his armour on in preparation for a night on patrol. He stopped what he was doing and looked at Clark warily.

 

He didn’t say a word.

 

“I’m sorry,” Clark said. “I didn’t mean to…”

 

“What do you want, Clark?” There was something about the way he said those words… like he was expecting Clark to tell him something he didn’t want to hear.

 

“I-I just wanted to… to say… we’re good for Thursday right?”

 

Bruce studied him. “Thursday?”

 

“Lunch? Usual place? I… know I’ve been busy but… yeah. I can do Thursday again now.”

 

The man looked at him, long and steady. For a terrifying moment Clark thought he was going to ignore him. Or, worse, tell him that wasn’t a good idea. Then… “Okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“Okay,” Bruce said again.

 

“Okay I’ll… I’ll see you then.”

 

“See you.”

 

“See you,” Clark echoed lamely and began to float away. “Yeah I… I’ll see you then. I will it’ll…”

 

“Clark.”

 

He stopped. “Yes?”

 

“Saturday’s good. If you want to visit Dick.”

 

“Saturday?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’ll be there,” he promised and this time he silently swore to himself that it wouldn’t be a lie.

 

“I’ll see you then,” Bruce said.

 

“See you then,” Clark echoed and left.

 

He couldn’t sleep that night but it was for an entirely different reason than before. It was because he couldn’t stop smiling.


End file.
